


The Manticore

by impalaloompa



Series: Destiny [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, If I think of more I will add them, Manticore, Mild Language, dont really know what else to put here, worried/geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: Geralt could see the fence lined brick wall had been, effectively, smashed to oblivion as something big and strong forced its way through. There were deep gouges in the earth, the grass and mud churned up with, as Geralt could now see, blood. He edged his way closer. Inspecting the churned-up earth and what he assumed were the remaining carcases of cows. The poor beasts looked to have been torn apart.“It’s a manticore. I’m right, aren’t I?” Jaskier’s voice sounded from the gate.Geralt looked up to see the Bard leaning against the gate post, arms folded. Unreadable expression ghosting his young face.
Series: Destiny [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616698
Comments: 8
Kudos: 164





	The Manticore

**Author's Note:**

> Well its been a while since I have posted anything on here. But I got inspired so have a Witcher one shot. Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.

The rising moon peaked out from behind a cloud as Geralt of Rivia, The Witcher, arrived in a small farming town. His breath billowed about him in clouds as his horse plodded steadily over the frozen ground.

The buildings grew more clustered as he ventured into the town centre. All was quiet. 

He halted and dismounted Roach, taking her reigns in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of the knife at his waist. He led her to a sheltered lean to and tied her to the post.

“I’ll be back soon,” he grumbled affectionately. 

Roach flicked her tail and Geralt turned in search of the tavern. It wasn’t long before he heard music drifting from one of the buildings and he marched towards it, looking forward to getting out of the cold.

He paused at the door; hand reached out to push when he recognised the song warbling from behind it. And, to his chagrin, he recognised the singer.  
He almost didn’t go in, but it had been a long journey and he was cold, hungry and tired. He seethed a breath.

“Fuck,” Geralt went into the tavern.

Warmth washed over him and the aroma of sweat and ale assaulted his nose. He was able to slip in unnoticed thanks to the Bard who was dancing about, strumming his lute and singing one of the epic tales of The White Wolf, and had the attention of every single patron. Even though he’d never admit this to Jaskier’s face, he thought the Bard was actually very good and his talent for story telling was second to none. 

Geralt sidled quietly towards the bar, half listening to the lyrics, half trying to avoid catching attention. He leaned towards the barkeep who did a double take and winced away from him.

“You’re…you…what do you want?” he stammered.

“Ale,” Geralt gruffed, “and a room.”

“Yes, yes, it’ll cost – “

Geralt placed a few coins on the bar, tilting his head at the barkeep.

“Very good, yes,” the man took the coins and passed him a tankard.

Geralt sighed and turned. Then rolled his eyes as the Bard spotted him.

Jaskier’s face lit up and he winked at Geralt as he pirouetted round the floor. Geralt nodded his head at him then sat at an empty table.

Rest up tonight, feed Roach in the morning and then seek out the one who had summoned him here. 

Geralt of Riva would never let himself be summoned by anyone, but the letter had been intriguing and his curiosity got the better of him. He just had to hope it was worth the promised coin.

“And farewell to your Witcher  
As he leaves once again,  
Farewell to your Witcher  
The saviour of men.”

Jaskier finished his song to a round of applause and it wasn’t long before he was sauntering up to Geralt with a tankard in hand.

“Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here,” the Bard perched on the chair opposite Geralt with a bemused smile.

The Witcher grunted and drank.

Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Hi Jaskier, good to see you. How long’s it been? A few months? How are you doing? Oh great Geralt thanks for asking. Just fine tuning my latest Ballad of your noble deeds. What do you think? Oh not bad not bad at all, it’s good to see you. Well it’s very good to see you too. So, Geralt how are you my old friend?” Jaskier leaned nonchalantly on the table, thumbing his tankard as he talked.

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at him and remained silent.

“Wonderful, good. I do so enjoy our little talks Geralt, they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” Jaskier feigned disappointment but Geralt knew he expected nothing less from him.

“So? What brings you this far North in the middle of winter?” Jaskier sat back, inviting Geralt to join the conversation any time now.

“Don’t know yet. I was asked here,” Geralt grumbled.

“Oh interesting, the hunter not knowing what he’s hunting. An element of mystery, I like that. Makes for a good song, an element of mystery,” Jaskier took a swig of ale, “and you know what else I find interesting? I’ve been here a day or two or more. Can’t remember. Lost track. Good ale and fine company. Anyway, I’ve been here a day or two, so I know that there is definitely something here worth hunting. That’s right, the Bard knows all. Or knows more than you at any rate.”

Geralt set his glare on Jaskier, his jaw muscles quivering. Jaskier looked up from his tankard and caught the Witcher’s expression.

“Okay, okay so,” Jaskier leaned forwards again, “there is something out there, lurking in the woods at the edge of town. It’s maiming and stealing livestock. Most of the villagers are pretty scared and it’s affecting their trade of meat and wool.”

“Hmm,” Geralt cast his amber gaze on the bar’s patrons, “Don’t look very scared to me.”

Jaskier shuffled.

“Well, they are. Trust me. I’ve seen some of the carnage this thing leaves behind. It won’t be long before it starts taking people, that’s what they all fear.”

Jaskier took another drink, watching Geralt closely. It gave the Witcher a feeling that Jaskier knew more than he was letting on.

“When I learned of the trouble here, I did hope you might show up,” the Bard blinked at him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“Whelp look at the time. It is late. I am off to bed. Goodnight my dear Witcher, sweet dreams and I’ll see you in the morning,” before Geralt could stop him, Jaskier disappeared into the busy tavern.  
***  
Geralt stood in the town square, the morning sun not quite nipping the cold in the air. He was trying to work out where to start looking for the person who had summoned him. Also, he couldn’t stop thinking about the strangeness to Jaskier the other night. He had waited for the Bard in the tavern but when Jaskier didn’t show up for breakfast Geralt decided to just go.

He sucked in a lungful of crisp air and made his way towards the edge of the town. If he couldn’t think of where to look for his summoner, he could definitely check out the site of the last attack.

People watched him as he strode past. Whispering and mumbling between themselves.

“That’s the Witcher, isn’t it?” “He’s here to help us.” “Maybe he can stop the attacks.”

It wasn’t long before the buildings grew apart and farmland swathed the countryside. He paused. There was a strange smell in the air. Something tainting the farmland and the woods beyond. Geralt was sure he recognised it, but he couldn’t place it.

“Excuse me? Witcher?”

A small voice behind him made him start. A young woman wrapped in heavy cloth to keep out the cold approached him cautiously.

“Are you here to help us?” she asked.

Geralt nodded.

“Follow me. I can show you where it last attacked,” the woman trotted past him and led him down the hill towards the fields lining the trees.

The stench grew stronger with each step and Geralt narrowed his eyes as he again tried to place it. 

“Here,” the woman stopped by the gate of an empty field that caressed the edge of the woodland, cast him a wary glance then scurried away. 

Geralt could see the fence lined brick wall had been, effectively, smashed to oblivion as something big and strong forced its way through. There were deep gouges in the earth, the grass and mud churned up with, as Geralt could now see, blood. He edged his way closer. Inspecting the churned-up earth and what he assumed were the remaining carcases of cows. The poor beasts looked to have been torn apart. 

The Witcher crouched down and poked the rotting flesh. He could see very distinct teeth marks scoring the meat and bone. It suddenly dawned on him why he recognised the foul smell. He had seen marks like these before. But it couldn’t be. Not here. It didn’t make any sense.

“It’s a manticore. I’m right, aren’t I?” Jaskier’s voice sounded from the gate.

Geralt looked up to see the Bard leaning against the gate post, arms folded. Unreadable expression ghosting his young face.

“You know?” Geralt was trying to make sense of what was happening, and he lurched towards the Bard in his growing irritation.

Witcher’s don’t feel emotion. That was known. Geralt knew it wasn’t entirely true. The damn Bard made sure of that.

“All right you little shit,” he spat at Jaskier, “Start talking.” Something he never thought he’d say to this particular human being.

Jaskier didn’t flinch away, nor did he look at Geralt. He remained transfixed on the carnage left behind by the monster.

“I’ve seen this before. A long time ago,” Jaskier faltered then took a sharp breath, “I was playing at a small village west of the mountains when cattle started going missing. The Lord of the province sent a Knight to deal with the problem but that just angered the beast and it started slaughtering the townsfolk. I’d never seen anything like it. I managed to get out but not before… The manticore it took… someone I cared about.”

Jaskier finally looked at Geralt and the Witcher could see the emotion brimming in his blue eyes.

“I was passing through another town when I heard about what was going on in this town and I had to come here. Once I knew what kind of monster was here, I… I asked you to come.”

Geralt was taken aback, “You wrote the letter summoning me here?”

Jaskier nodded.

“So there’s no coin?”

Jaskier looked away.

Geralt took a deep breath, letting his annoyance go, “Why didn’t you just put your name on the letter?”

“Because I didn’t know if you would come,” for me, he wanted to say but stopped short, voice small and unsure.

Geralt would deny it, but guilt panged through him as he realised that his only friend in the whole wide world didn’t understand that he would do anything for him. And that was his fault.

“I’m going to get this monster,” he promised and Jaskier seemed to brighten a little, “Only…”

“Only?” Jaskier frowned.

“I don’t understand what it’s doing here. Manticores inhabit mountains and wasteland. Not dense woodland.”

Jaskier shrugged, “It’s a monster. It does what it pleases.”

Geralt shook his head, still not satisfied. 

“So what’s the plan Geralt?” Jaskier hopped away from the gate post, eager to see what the Witcher was going to do.

“First, I’m going to make sure Roach is being looked after. Then I’m going to track this thing down and kill it,” the Witcher gruffed.

“And how do we plan on killing it?” Jaskier bounced a little in his anticipation.

“We?” Geralt grumbled.

“Yes we. You and me. The Bard and the Witcher. It makes the song better.” 

Geralt narrowed his eyes at Jaskier, “You’re not coming with me.”

“That’s what you always say but we both know who always wins in the end.”

“I’m serious Jaskier.”

“So am I. There’s no way I’m letting you face this thing alone. Besides, it promises to be one of my best ballads yet!”

***  
Geralt stalked through the trees, his keen senses acutely aware of every tiny movement and scent. He held his sword comfortably in one hand, ready for whatever might jump out of the next thicket.

Jaskier followed a few paces behind. He kept his cloak wrapped around him and was trying to focus on beings a quiet as possible and the uncharacteristic silence was unnerving the Witcher.

“Jaskier” he grumbled, “Remember to keep out of my way.”

“Oh don’t you worry. I have no intention of getting remotely close to that thing. I’m too pretty to die and the world isn’t ready for the absence of my voice,” Jaskier jogged to catch up.

Geralt could tell that the Bard was nervous by the quiver in his voice. It was strange. Usually Jaskier babbled on without a second thought. This quieter, unnerved Jaskier was setting him on edge.

They had been tracking the manticore for about two hours now. When the tracks faded, Geralt used his nose until he found more. He had reminded Jaskier to keep an eye on the trees. There was a very high chance the beast could be stalking them from above. A statement which Jaskier very loudly gave his opinion on.

Geralt stopped at the edge of a clearing. Jaskier plodded past wrapped up in his own self motivational ramblings. Geralt put an arm up to block his way.  
“Wait,” he gruffed, scanning the open ground.

Jaskier stumbled back a little and glanced at Geralt.

“Can’t you smell it?” Geralt narrowed his eyes, jaw set.

“I can smell you. Incidentally, when was the last time you took a bath because, as much as the stink of horse is very becoming, you – “

“Shut it,” Geralt hissed.

The Witcher crouched down and touched the mossy ground.

“It’s here,” he grit his teeth.

“Where? I don’t see it?” Jaskier crouched next to him, shivering with the cold.

A deep rumbling sounded behind them and Geralt snapped round, dread pitting his stomach.

There it was. Perched high in the trees. A monster with the body of a lion, the wings of a bat and the tail of a scorpion. The manticore.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted.

The manticore let out a tremendous screech and leaped down at them. Geralt pushed Jaskier out of the way and rolled with the motion of the beast, landing on his feet and brandishing his sword.

“Mother of –“ Jaskier was cut short as the manticore’s tail lashed down and he dived into the bushes for cover.

“Come on then,” Geralt spat at the beast. 

It rounded on him, crouching low, wings ruffled. That’s when Geralt noticed the tare in its left wing and the twisted shape of the bone protruding from its shoulder. It was injured. It couldn’t fly. That explained why it hadn’t left these woods, but not why it was here in the first place.

The manticore roared at him then swiped with is razor sharp talons. The attack was quickly followed by a darting stab from its tail and Geralt barely dodged both blows.  
He parried another jab from its tail, the force almost unfooting him and then slashed his sword at the manticores neck.

The blow landed and the creature screeched in pain. It barrelled its head into Geralt, knocking the wind from him and sending him sprawling on the ground.

“Geralt look out!” Jaskier’s shout came from somewhere in the trees.

Geralt rolled out of the way just in time as the poisonous tail stabbed the earth where his head had just been. 

The Witcher caught a glimpse of Jaskier through the bracken and prayed the idiot would stay put and not attract attention to himself. He scrambled to his feet, lifting his sword as a massive paw came down and the clang of talons against metal rang round the clearing.

The manticore bared its teeth and lunged at him again. Geralt dodged and stabbed, slashed and ducked and he could tell the beast was tiring. The manticore leaped at him again but turned at the last minute, flicking out its wings and forcing Geralt to the ground. 

The monster was immediately upon him, gnashing teeth and slashing claws. Geralt shouted in pain as the manticore sliced through his shoulder and it was all he could do to stop the beast descending on him, its rancid breath swirling about him.

Something hit the manticore on the side of the head and it whipped its head round to address the new attack. Geralt could see Jaskier standing at the edge of the clearing, a rock in his hand, getting ready to throw again.

The manticore lunged at the Bard but Geralt caught its tail and used all his strength so the creatures leap landed short. Jaskier stumbled backwards out of the way.

“Jaskier move!” Geralt screamed at him.

Jaskier tried to do as he was told but fear rooted him to the spot and Geralt could do nothing but watch as the manticore smashed a huge clawed paw down on the Bard who crumpled under the impact.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouted.

The manticore turned back to the Witcher and Geralt looked around frantically for his sword. It was lying in the grass a few feet away. He leaped for it, fingertips brushing its hilt but then pain erupted in his right calf as the manticore sank its teeth in and dragged him backwards.

Geralt struggled to get free and the monster flung him around like a rag doll. A particular throw dislodged him from the beast’s hold, but he hit the ground hard, banging his head and consciousness was snatched from him.

***  
“Wake up! Geralt! Wake up! Please!”

Geralt blinked. There was a heavy pounding in his head. His ears were ringing, his eyes struggled to focus, and his body screamed with pain. The cold of the ground seeping into his sore muscles.

The voice came again, close and panicked.

“Geralt! Please!”

There was someone standing over him. It took him a moment to realise that it was Jaskier. The Bard was holding the Witcher’s sword, arms shaking with the effort. He looked like a child brandishing an oversized stick that was too heavy for him.

The manticore stalked the clearing. Taunting, teasing Jaskier as he tried to fend off its jabs and lunges. 

The monster lashed its tail, knocking the sword clean out of Jaskier’s hands and sending the Bard flying. Geralt felt the earth shake with his impact. He rolled over to see the manticore advance on Jaskier. He forced his limbs to work and he reached out for the fallen sword. 

The manticore leered over its victim. It threw its head back in triumph.

Jaskier was spattered with dark blood as Geralt speared the beast right through the neck. 

The manticore rasped and spluttered, writhing as Geralt tore the sword free and stabbed again. The beast bucked and crashed to the ground, dead.

Geralt stood over it, panting. That had been too close.

He hurried over to Jaskier who was staring at the slain beast.

A few scratches that Geralt could see, probably some colourful bruising he couldn’t see but overall Jaskier seemed okay. He collapsed next to the Bard, letting himself feel the pain pulsing through his leg and shoulder. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed. He was expecting a verbal thrashing for not doing as he had been told, for almost getting himself killed, again. 

But Geralt just said, “Thank you.”

Jaskier looked at the Witcher then back at the manticore.

“Shit,” he said, then started to laugh. Pure exhilaration and relief.

Geralt rolled onto his hands and knees and gingerly pushed himself up. Jaskier quickly calmed down and tried to support Geralt round the waist as he tried to stand. Geralt was heavier than he looked, and the pair almost fell again.

Once steady, Geralt with an arm draped round the Bard’s shoulders, they steadily set off back towards the town. Geralt was limping heavily and it was all Jaskier could do to keep him upright.

Jaskier very quickly fell into his patter of recounting the battle and trying to piece together lyrics with a vague tune. Geralt just listened, glad that the Bard was with him.  
The longer they walked, the stronger he felt, and he was able to keep going without Jaskier’s help. Jaskier fell behind a little, making sure that Geralt kept going.

“Still don’t know why it was here,” Geralt grumbled when Jaskier paused for breath, “Need to find out. Could be more of them where they’re not meant to be. Fought one before but that one seemed different.” 

“Geralt.”

“Stronger, more aggressive.”

“Geralt.”

“And how did it get an injured wing? That doesn’t just happen.”

“Geralt!”

Geralt turned around to look at Jaskier and faltered.

“I don’t feel so good,” Jaskier gazed up at him and Geralt felt his blood run cold.

Jaskier was grey and shaking. His knees gave way and he stumbled to the floor.

“Jaskier?” Geralt was on him in an instant.

He frantically checked Jaskier’s injuries and then froze when he found a gash on his arm. It was deep and still oozing blood. The veins around it bulged and looked black. There was an unnatural heat emitting from his skin, melting the frost around him.

The Witcher lifted his eyes to look into Jaskier’s.

“Fuck.”

***  
“Healer! I need a healer!” Geralt rushed into the town carrying Jaskier as gently as he could in his haste. 

All his own pains and ailments forgotten as the life of his friend hung in the balance.

“Someone help me!” he snarled as he approached a group of women cowering by the lean to he had used for Roach the night before.

“Over here,” a man called from an open door to his left.

Geralt bustled over and carefully maneuvered Jaskier through the door.

“Put him here,” the man indicated a table in the middle of his workshop and then busied himself with a rack of herbs at the back of the room.

Geralt awkwardly cleared the table, pushing the papers and books to the floor and laid Jaskier down on its flat surface. Jaskier’s breathing was coming in short, raspy gasps. He was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead.

“What happened to him?” the man asked, approaching Geralt whilst mashing herbs with a mortar and pestle. 

“Poisoned. By a manticore,” Geralt couldn’t take his eyes of Jaskier.

The man nodded and went back to collect more herbs.

“Just hang on Jaskier, hang on,” Geralt felt a tightness in his chest.

Jaskier’s body went rigid and seized. He cried out in pain. The Witcher felt helpless.

Jaskier grabbed out for Geralt’s arm and Geralt let himself be pulled closer.

“It hurts,” Jaskier whined, “Geralt please.”

“I know, just hang on okay?” Geralt knelt down beside him so he could be eye level with the Bard. 

“So you beat it? The manticore?” the man poured an orange liquid into a bowl with the mashed herbs.

Geralt didn’t take him on. He was too focused on the rapid rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest, the weakening pattering of his heart.

“Impressive,” the man approached, “Not many could have faced my manticore and lived to tell the tale.”

That got Geralt’s attention.

“Your manticore?” he growled.

“Indeed. Such a fine beast. Shame really. I knew you would come here eventually and I had to make sure you were worthy,” the man stopped by Jaskier’s head.

“Worthy?” Geralt seethed as he rose menacingly.

“Of your destiny. You proved you are, my boy. Well done.”

Geralt finally took a good look at the man. He was tall. Leen. With deep blue eyes that spoke of a thousand worlds.

“Who are you, mage?” Geralt snarled.

“Just someone who has an interest in you Witcher,” the smile on his lips was almost a sneer.

Geralt advanced.

“No, no. If you want your Bard to live, you need to step back,” that sneer and those glinting eyes had Geralt’s blood on fire.

“Why?” he heard himself asking.

“All will be revealed in due course. Now do you want me to save him or not?”

Geralt looked at Jaskier, slowly fading as he lay shaking on the table.

“Do it,” he snapped.

“Ah but there is one thing I want in return,” the mage blinked slowly at him.

“Haven’t you taken enough? Jaskier is dying. Cure him now,” Geralt thundered.

“A lock of your hair. That is all,” the man tilted his head.

That couldn’t be good. Geralt tensed but Jaskier convulsed on the table, now choking on his own blood.

“Fine,” Geralt backed off.

The mage swooped down on Jaskier, tilting his head so he could pour the mixture down his throat. Jaskier spluttered, but then after a moment, became still.

“He needs rest, but he will be fine,” the man was suddenly beside Geralt, took a nimble knife from out of his robes, glided it through the Witcher’s white hair and then put the blade and the lock of hair back into his pocket. 

Geralt whipped round to grab at the mage but he was gone.

***  
Geralt came too as he heard Jaskier waking. 

He had taken the Bard back to the tavern and laid him in his own bed for comfort. Geralt had stayed by his side, puzzling through the events of the past few days.

“Geralt?”

“Hey. Easy,” Geralt offered him a cup of water which Jaskier gladly took.

The Witcher watched the Bard for a moment, finding himself immensely glad that he was okay, before getting up and moving to the window.

“Thanks for… for looking after me,” Jaskier husked.

“You’re my friend,” Geralt said simply.

Jaskier leaned back on the bed, tears brimming his eyes.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”

“What?” Geralt cast over his shoulder.

“Friend.”

“Shut up,” Geralt threw back.

Jaskier smiled.

Geralt turned back and perched in the chair by the bed again.

“Now what?” Jaskier implored, struggling to sit up properly.

Geralt helped him. But didn’t answer.

“Geralt?”

The Witcher sighed.

“Nothing good, Jaskier. Nothing good.”


End file.
